Schooled
by Professor Maka
Summary: Soul Evans and Maka Albarn have been teaching at the same high school for the past three years. They are friends and now roommates, but will they cross the line to become more? Most the school seems to hope so, anyway. A HS teachers AU written for SoMa week 2016. Day 6: Fight Song. There's nothing Soul loves more than sparring with his favorite English teacher.
1. Punch Kissy

**A/N: This is the first installment in a longer HS teacher AU written for SoMa week 2016.**

 **Thanks to Kat, Julie, and Amanda for looking it over.**

* * *

"Neck kissy!"

He felt the blow to his arm just after the loud stage whisper as they circled the room, rubbing it ruefully as he turned his eyes onto her wide grin. He'd known her long enough to know her punches, even the ones done in jest, _hurt_ , but still couldn't bring himself to regret any game that made her smile like that.

He really, really liked her smile.

"Where-" he ground out. "I don't see-" ah, and there it was, a certain tall, red redheaded vice principal off in the shadows with the dance teacher. No wonder she'd punched him so hard.

As his eyes moved back across the room, past the gym full of orange and black streamers and balloons and pumpkins and dancing teenagers under the lowlights of a disco ball, he spotted an 11th grader shyly moving her face up to her date and missing his mouth to plant one on his nose. Soul couldn't stifle the small chuckle as he whispered, "nose kissy," and punched his companion softly in the arm the way you might mock punch a child. Maka might not pull her punches, but there was no way in hell he could ever stand to hurt her, not even a little, not even in the spirit of the game.

The really stupid game she had just made up, on the spot, tonight. The really stupid game he knew damn well she'd made up just for him, to distract him, because she knew how much he hated crowds.

That made him want to kiss _her_ , not that he would. He wasn't quite that suicidal.

"Where?" she protested. "I don't see-"

"The exchange student, Tsugumi whasername, just tried to kiss Akane Hoshi. Someone probably told her it was a required American custom or some shit because she looked pretty uncomfortable. My money's on Diehl."

Maka sighed at that. "Kim has a good heart, it's just buried beneath a lot of bullshit. You know how she grew up-oh-French kissy!" she exclaimed suddenly, and he felt another hit to his already sore arm. This one, he couldn't miss if he tried, seeing as Liz Thompson was practically sucking Kilik Rung's face off in the middle of the the swirling lights of the dance floor.

"Ugh, get a room," he groaned.

The throbbing in his arm was replaced by a sharp pain to the ribs accompanied by an indignant gasp of his name as she elbowed him.

"What the-" he whipped his head around to glare at her.

"They're only 17, Soul, don't be gross."

"Yeah, because no 17 year olds ever do the nast-" the eye roll was well earned, but so was the sock on the arm"-hey!"

"Forehead kissy!" she said sweetly, motioning to dizzying, flashing crowd. The lights and crowd stole his focus, made him feel nauseous as they had earlier that night, and as they surely would again whenever his eyes lingered too long scanning the crowd. Her hand came back out, then, gesturing more specifically to where the very same Akane had his lips to the exchange student's forehead. Soul breathed in relief as he moved his eyes back to the safety of her face. The lights reminded him far too much of his childhood when he dared stare too long, but he refused to broadcast his mild, unwarranted distress, instead cloaking it in familiar snark.

"Great. My arm is gonna fall off before the night is out, you know that, right?"

"You whine a lot, you know that, right?" Her grin was so infectious it washed the nausea away and left him fighting back a grin himself.

Successfully beating back the urge to smile, he gave a long sigh of mock exasperation instead when they made another turn in their rounds.

As they neared the outside doors of the gym, she suddenly blurted, "wanna get some air? It's sweltering in here. All these bodies and teenage hormones could fry an egg."

"You are-so weird." This time he did grin, shaking his head. How she always seemed to be able to read past his mask of apathy and just _know_ when he needed a breather was both uncanny and one of his favorite things about her. "But going outside? Isn't that against the chaperone code or some shit?"

"Language, Soul, and no-there are other chaperones. Breaks are a thing."

He shrugged his assent and they made their way out into the cool Nevada night. Back home, fall had always been his favorite season for the leaves and rain. Here, he was just glad for a slight respite from the perpetually sweltering heat. Soul sighed his content, closing his eyes and tilting his face to the stars to take in more of the night.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Her voice was soft beside him.

"Yeah, it's alright." It was gorgeous, but as he flicked his eyes her way, he saw something even more breathtaking as she smiled softly at him, practically glowing in her flowy white dress as she stood bathed in the light of the nearly full moon. She looked like an angel, but the bruises on his arm and ribs belied that image.

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Not like I had a choice. Vice Principal Asshat made sure of that."

"Sorry, I know Papa can be a jerk," she murmured. "Still glad you're here."

Really, he probably owed the old lech for this, because much as he hated big parties, much as the crowds and lights reminded him of a past he'd long since left behind, much as he had moaned and groaned, after Maka had volunteered to chaperone the Harvest Dance, he'd sort of _wanted_ to go, and this way, he didn't have to look like a pathetic pining loser to have an excuse to do it.

If Spirit Albarn had known all that, he probably would have banned him from the dance instead. Good thing he was just capitalizing on Soul's widely known hatred of parties rather than remembering how much he hated the music teacher spending time with his beloved daughter.

Speaking of-

"So, are you all packed?" He turned his eyes her way, careful to keep his expression blank. Sharing an apartment may have been her idea-his was bigger and nicer, her lease was up, she had been looking for something closer to the school, and his prior roommate had only recently moved on to greener pastures-but he was still worried it was too good to be true, afraid to rock the boat and have it sink before it could even sail. They'd known each other for two years, been close for the last year, but this was still the type of thing that could make or break a friendship, and sue him, he was _nervous_. He wasn't sure he could take breaking this particular friendship.

"Mostly," she sighed out. "I just haven't had time to box up my books what with this last batch of tests."

"But your books are like-half your shit!" he scoffed. They really were. He'd never met someone with so damned many books. It must be an English teacher thing.

"Well." She turned to him, one hand on her hip. "It's midway into the first quarter, and unlike, say, music teachers who get to just ignore tests, I have to actually grade things."

"You're supposed to move in next weekend."

"I'll get it done!" she said through gritted teeth. "Just-"

"I'll do it."

"Wha-?" The way her jaw hung open like a gaping fish made the hours he would spend in neck breaking agony worth it already. It wasn't easy to surprise her, but it was always worth it.

"I said, I'll do it. Like you said." His grin was wide. "Music teachers don't do shit for tests-already had their mid quarter recitals. I can come over tomorrow after school. You grade, I'll pack your books."

"You won't just throw half of them away?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"No promises."

" _Soul!_ "

"Fine, fine." He offered his most put upon scowl as he raised his hands in placation, fighting a smile. "I won't throw away any of your precious books, even if you could stand to weed out most of them. Just don't come crying to me when they won't all fit in your room."

Maka didn't say anything, just stepped over and punched him in the arm. Hard.

"What the-"

Leaning up on her tiptoes, she kissed him quickly on the cheek with a wide grin.

"Cheek kissy!"

And then she was sashaying back towards the gym. Soul gaped after her, rubbing the spot where her lips had just met his skin and wondering if this roommates thing was a bad idea after all.

As his heart pounded in his chest, he was sure this woman would be the death of him yet.


	2. Nightmares

**A/N: This one is for SoMa week 2016 day 2, can't sleep. Thanks to Amanda, Kat, Julie, and Lunar for the eyes.**

* * *

"Hey," she said as she sat down on the couch in the opposite corner from where he'd been parked since she'd gone to bed hours before. It was the third time that week he'd been out watching television when she went to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.

"Hey," his voice was rough with fatigue.

"You okay?"

"Mhm. Just making lesson plans."

It was bullshit and she knew it-he had the same half page of notes on his lap he'd been 'working on' when she went to bed hours ago, still untouched. She wanted to call him out on it, but he just looked so _tired_ , sitting there in dark pajama bottoms with even darker smudges under his eyes, that she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"Need any help?"

"Nah." He chuckled. "You'd probably have them trying to play 'Ziga Zig Ah.'"

"Nothing wrong with the Spice Girls." Her indignant pout was halfhearted at best.

"Whiiich is why you aren't a music teacher."

He shook his head, but he was smiling and she smiled back because he seemed to need it. She wanted to help, she really did, because something was clearly _wrong_ , she just didn't know _what._

She'd always known he was a bit of a night owl, given that he would sometimes text her late into the evening, but they had to teach in the morning and he looked like total shit-rumpled, glazed eyes, haggard. To say he seemed exhausted would be an understatement.

Back to staring blankly at the paper in his lap, he appeared almost dazed. Something was definitely wrong, and while she wanted to go to bed because she was _tired_ , Maka didn't want to leave him alone. Soul was her friend-her best friend-and she'd be damned if she didn't at least try to help.

Grabbing the remote, she turned up the TV. He had it on Food Network, which was fine; she could watch "Chopped" ad nauseum and she knew he could, too. They had long since bonded over garbage television.

"Aren't you going back to bed?" he sounded skeptical, indignant almost.

She raised her eyes to meet his, challenging. "Can't sleep. Just work on your planning, I won't bug you."

Her hope was that he would break down and talk if she stayed, but he didn't, just continued to stare at the paper. She was tired, so tired, and watching the life and death struggle of four chefs to win ten thousand dollars was like a soothing lullaby. Maka didn't mean to fall asleep, didn't even realize she had dozed until she heard the scream. It was a low, mournful bellow, and it had her eyes snapping open in an instant.

"Soul?" She shot upright, confused. He was still on the other end of couch, and like her, he had fallen asleep sitting up, but that wasn't the part that had her bolting to his side of the sofa. He was shaking and whimpering, his movement having dislodged the papers on his lap to scatter them on the floor below. Moving to her knees next to him, Maka put a hand on his shoulder and shook gently.

"Soul?" she asked again, voice soft.

"No! Don't! You can't-please!" he cried out, though his eyes were still shut. He flailed some more, and her grip on his shoulder became more firm, more insistent, her voice almost pleading.

"Soul. Wake up, Soul. It's okay. It's a dream."

His thrashing increased and she became genuinely concerned he might hurt himself as he screamed, "No!" again hoarsely.

"Soul!" She moved into his lap, straddling him to hold him still, keeping one hand on his shoulder. The other hand moved to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheek bone soothingly. "It's okay. It's _okay._ You're okay. Just, wake up. Please."

He moaned again incoherently, sounding like a pained animal.

"Please," she whispered, drawing her forehead close to his, resting it there. Maka had no experience with helping someone through a dream, had no idea what to do if he wouldn't wake, and she was becoming desperate, his forlorn cries rending her heart. She hated seeing him like this, so distressed, so alone in his own head.

"M-Maka?" he muttered, and his eyes flew open.

The relief that washed through her at seeing his red eyes glowing by the light of the television was short lived as she realized how compromising her current position was. Feeling herself go scarlet, she scrambled back, muttering, "sorry, sorry, sorry!" as she went, until she was on the other side of the couch. He kept staring at her, jaw slack, eyes bleary.

"I'm so sorry, you were just-I needed to wake you up, you were so-"

"'S' okay," he said, voice raw, from sleep or maybe from screaming. "Thank you," he added, voice almost a whisper. "For waking me. I, uh-" his hand moved up to rumple sweat damp hair "-sometimes, I have bad dreams." He looked so sheepish she wanted to hug him. 'Bad dreams' felt like an understatement, and he shouldn't feel guilty about them, or embarrassed. She was just _worried_.

"Um, it's fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Everyone has nightmares, sometimes."

He nodded, but Maka could see how haunted his eyes were, how hollow as he bent down over himself to pick up his scattered notes. Putting them on the table instead of in his lap, he sighed. "Sorry if it was-weird," he mumbled, eyes averted pointedly.

Her own eyes scanned him, almost hunched in on himself, vacant gaze on the television. Whatever Soul dreamt of, it had clearly shaken him, and he probably needed comforting. Resolved, she grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa and scooched over until her side was pressed against him, then covered them both with the black and red plaid monstrosity her father had gifted her when she first got her own place.

"Maka," he whined, and she didn't dare look at him. "What're you-"

"Cold," was her response as she snuggled into his side.

He made a guttural "mph" of understanding or acknowledgment before lifting his arm to settle on her shoulders. "Dunno how you can be cold. You always feel like a damned space heater to me."

Maka pinched his side to a gratifying yelp, not deigning to offer any other reply. He was right; she wasn't cold at all, but she refused to admit that. This was crossing a line and she was sure they both knew it because while they had shared a couch many times, while she had slung her feet in his lap as often, they had never really _cuddled_ before. It was new and just a little bit thrilling for reasons she didn't care to parse, sending a pleasant warmth through every extremity. Her point wasn't her own comfort, but his, and she had to keep her eyes on the prize.

Snuggling further into his side, she kept her eyes on the television, though her attention was more taken by his warmth, by the weight of his arm on her shoulders, and by his strong, steady heartbeat than by the two chefs left on the television who were currently scrambling to make a desert out of gruyere cheese, pickles, mascarpone, and chocolate ganache.

"Do you have dreams like that a lot?" she finally asked, voice quiet and careful, as the program moved to commercial.

His grunt was non committal.

"It scared me a little, when I couldn't wake you up," she ventured. Maka knew him well enough to realize talking about it might help, though he would never bring it up himself. If she couched it in terms of her feelings, though, she thought he would probably be willing to speak. That he always listened to her when it was important was one of the things she liked best about him, one of the things that made her-

"I'm sorry." The thought she would prefer not to acknowledge was cut short by his soft words.

"Don't be. Everyone has nightmares, just, when you wouldn't wake up-"

"Yeah," he sighed, and she could feel the shake of his head above her. "Sometimes, it's like-I know I'm asleep. I could even hear you, could feel you, but I couldn't _move_ -then you-and-I don't know, but I think you helped me. So thank you."

Maka sat up suddenly, her eyes meeting his tired gaze. "Sleep paralysis," she said, the sudden epiphany strong. "You have nightmares and sleep paralysis. It's-it can happen to some people. We could-"

"It's okay, I'm used to it," he mumbled, and she sat up more fully.

"Does it happen a lot?"

"Not-not that much." He shook his head. "Once a week, maybe twice. More sometimes if-"

"Soul!" she gasped in exasperation. "No wonder you're always tired!"

"'S fine. I've actually had them less since you moved in. Really, Maka." He was looking past her, or maybe at her shoulder, but definitely not meeting her eyes.

Her loud, long sigh was her only response, but she said no more, settling back against him. They could look into options to help him later, but she was too tired to argue. She was sleepy, so sleepy, but she would not go to sleep, would stay with him because that's what friends did. Nevermind how nice it felt to be this close, how much his warmth cut through her worry for him, his even breathing soothing.

"You help," he said softly, and she wondered if he knew she was still awake it was so quiet. "You being here, you being-you help." She didn't answer, but didn't protest when his hand moved up to stroke her hair, letting herself bask in it and telling herself he needed the comfort.

It was for _him,_ Maka assured herself. It certainly wasn't because for the first time since her mama left when she was twelve, it felt like she was home.


	3. That Damn Motorcycle

**A/N: This one is for Day 3, Caught in the Rain. Thanks to Amanda and Bendy for the eyes. Yes, it's late. Sometimes, life intervenes.**

* * *

It wasn't supposed to rain, but he should have known it would anyway. In a desert town like Death City, rain could sweep through from the mountains in an eye blink, leaving the generally parched landscape soaked through.

Usually, Soul liked the rain, liked how it broke the desert heat, liked the white noise of its patter, soft and hard and soft again, liked the way the world was cast in grayscale, but today he cursed his luck as the drops began to fall, thick and heavy outside, slanting against the windows to distort the world beyond in a haze of moisture.

"I told you!" Maka burst into the music room suddenly, as if on cue, just as a loud clap of thunder pealed through the air. The lingering students who had been hanging around after school scattered before her wrath, fleeing the music room in haste before the human tornado could reach them. Even band geeks knew better than to loiter when Miss Albarn was on the warpath.

Maka shook her soaked umbrella at him for emphasis, fat droplets flying to hit his face. He wiped them off with the back of his hand, not even bothering to hide his light scowl.

"It'll pass. You know these monsoons rarely last long." It was wishful thinking on his part, really. The suggestion certainly did nothing to diminish her frown of disapproval or the impatient tapping of one foot.

"I just looked at the weather, Soul. It's supposed to rain all night. _All night!"_ Maka threw up her arms at that, absolutely livid. They were supposed to go out to see a movie since she'd somehow won tickets to the premier of a film based on one of her favorite novels, but there was no way they could drive through this on the bike. Maka plopped down on the couch in the corner, almost kicking a music stand down as she stomped over, her growl of frustration echoing through the room. Good acoustics did have their drawbacks after all.

"The weather forecast isn't always right." He didn't move, remained standing near the wall where he'd been when she came in.

"I _told you_ we should have driven my car, but nooo, it was your turn to drive, so we just had to take the damn motorcycle!" She crossed her arms over her chest for emphasis. Alright, so sue him that the thought of Maka pressed against his back was always a good one and the thought of her doing so on the way to a movie had his needy little heart doing backflips. Maybe it wasn't a date, maybe it would never be a date because her hangups about dating were likely insurmountable, but he'd take what he could get, and being that close to her was an awful lot to get.

"Movie doesn't start for another hour, it might let up in time."

Her only response was a frustrated noise, half growl, half shriek. Feeling more than a little guilty, but also more than a little worried that his arm might suffer the mother of all bruises in her clearly frustrated state, Soul moved slowly, carefully across the room to seat himself on the opposite end of the music room couch.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know it would rain, and-"

Her deep sigh cut his words short.

"I _know_. I just really wanted to see this."

"We could still-"

"It's not going to let up," she cut him off, gaze sharp. It softened after a moment and she sighed again. "But we can hope for the best. You still have that deck of cards in your desk? May as well do something to pass the time since we're stuck here."

"Uh, sure." He peeled himself off the couch, glad she wasn't set on stewing in annoyance all night.

It only took him a minute to walk to his little office adjacent to the band room, rifle through his less than organized desk, and claim the pack of cards that had been a gift from one of his students last year. It was a themed deck featuring altered photos of famous classical musicians. Soul suspected that this particular student, a quiet, sarcastic piece of work named Harvar D'eclair (whose parents had apparently met at the ivy and were mildly obsessed booster types,) had made the connection between Mr. Evans the music teacher and Wes Evans, the famous violinist who was the King of Hearts in the pack, but had never quite been sure. If the kid had made the connection, he'd never actually mentioned it.

Returning shortly with cards in hand, he tossed them into Maka's lap and plopped back down onto the other side of the couch. She was shuffling soon after when she slid a card out and smiled.

"You guys really do look a lot alike." She turned the card around to reveal the King of Hearts. "You should call him-he's worried."

Soul gaped, then scowled.

"How do you even-"

"He friended me on Facebook and we chat sometimes. Actually, he mentioned maybe visiting soon, if-"

"No." His stomach dropped to his shoes, and he knew his voice sounded harsher than he'd meant. Soul loved his brother, missed him even, but he'd finally escaped his long shadow, and the thought of him talking to Maka, of him _meeting_ Maka-jealousy twisted, sick and hard in his gut.

"He's your _brother_."

"Are you gonna deal or not?" Anything to avoid this mess in the making.

" _Fine_."

A minute later and he had seven cards in hand for gin rummy. Of _course_ one was the King of Hearts.

"You sure you wouldn't rather play strip poker?" He waggled his eyebrows. Teasing her should get her off the subject of his brother, aside from which, it was just a damn lot of fun. She was ridiculously cute when she was angry, even if she was also ridiculously lethal. His bicep would probably regret it in the morning.

"Don't be gross." Red was a good color on her, spreading over her pale skin like a lapping wave. The punch to the arm was par for the course.

"You wish I'd be gross." Another eyebrow waggle, followed by another punch and a deeper shade of red and they began playing. The fact Maka thoroughly trounced him was also par for the course-he was great at poker but shit at rummy.

"You only don't want to play poker because I'll beat you." He definitely wasn't pouting, because cool guys didn't pout and he was a grown man, above and beyond such childishness.

He might have earned the eye roll. Probably.

"You know what? Fine. We can play 21."

" _Strip_ 21?"

Punch three. That was definitely going to bruise. "God, you're gross, but no. I was thinking more like winner of each hand gets to ask a question the loser has to answer honestly."

The shrug was as much answer as he cared to give. Asking her questions had appeal, but the thought of being on the answering end made him feel physically ill. Maka knew more about his upbringing than anyone else he knew in Death City, but he preferred to keep his past behind him.

"What, afraid I'll win?" she goaded. Her smile was wide and taunting, and dammit, she never could bluff for shit.

"Bring it on, Albarn."

Two cards down. The ten was promising. Two cards face up. Another ten, where she had a two. He had this.

"Hold," he said after a pause–no sense revealing how good his draw was.

"Well, I'm taking a hit," she said as she put another card face up-the King of Hearts, of fucking _course_. Well, that was probably either a bust or below twenty, he should-

"Twenty one! What's yours." She flipped the down card to show a nine.

"Fuck." He flipped his own ten and she whooped in triumph for a moment, before eyeing the King of Hearts thoughtfully.

"So. My question," she began after a short pause. "Why don't you want to see your brother?"

Fuck fuck _fuck_.

"It's just-" What to tell her? _I love him but I'm jealous? I'm afraid everyone will realize I'm a fraud compared to him, that everyone will want to fall at his feet and forget me, that you'll fall for him when you won't even look twice at me because I'm not good enough to help you get over your past but maybe he is? I can't lose you?_ "-it's complicated."

"We've got all night," she said, hand waving towards the windows where rain was still spattering rapidly.

A long breath through the nose could not calm his hammering heart, though he did manage to keep his mask of indifference from cracking. "He's just-better than me, alright? When he was around-everyone could just _tell_ I wasn't good enough, and I-" another long breath "-he's great. My brother is great and I _want_ to see him. But I just don't want him _here_."

There was a heavy pause, the cacophony of rain and thunder outside less deafening than the silence resting between them.

"No one is going to compare you," she said finally, softly, "No one is going to think less of you. You're you, and he's him, and I don't know about him, but you are-really great. No one can change that."

His heart felt full, but also sore because she said that _now_ , but she'd never even met Wes, she couldn't know-

"And maybe, if you aren't ready to have him here, and if you aren't ready to go home either, maybe you could meet him half way sometime-or at least _call_ him once in awhile. He asked me for your cell and I didn't give it because that's not my call to make, but _you should_."

"Yeah, maybe."

"He misses you," she reiterated. "And I wouldn't care about that, Soul, because no one is entitled to your time or your love, except I think you miss him, too, and I think you'd feel better if you saw him."

"I'll think about it." It was a brush off, because talking about this had his palms slick, but he also meant it because she was right, and maybe after half a decade, it was time. Even if he was sure to drown in his own guilt, he knew Maka would be the first to throw him a life preserver.

"We definitely missed the movie," she blurted suddenly, but she didn't sound angry. "I swear I spotted Battleship in your office last week, care to wage a war of wits and plastic ships with me?"

Her soft smile was all the incentive he needed. " _Strip_ battleship?"

"Perv!" she shrieked, and his laugh echoed off the excellent acoustics as he avoided her punch and went to grab the game.

Hours later, after she'd trounced him at battleship and it was clear the rain would indeed last the night, he woke blinking blearily to a light in his eyes and a heavy weight on his chest, BJ the night janitor staring down at them from his place above the couch with a knowing grin.

"I didn't see anything," he said with a wink, because technically, sleeping at the school was a no no. Then he was out the door, and Soul was fishing in his pocket to set his alarm for early enough that no one else could disturb them.

As he drifted off to sleep again, Maka warm on his chest, he tried to imagine what it would be like if this were just another night, if she always slept in his arms instead of being forced to by the rain and the presence of only one couch.

It was a lot to imagine, even with the idea of seeing his brother still heavy in his thoughts-when he slept again, he dreamt of her, laughing in the rain, kissing in the rain, and the life he longed for but could never have. Then again, as his brother invaded his sleep fogged mind, he supposed he didn't deserve her anyway.


	4. Ink Stained

**A/N: Written for Day 4, Ink. Thanks to Amanda, Kat, Bend, and Lunar for reading. And yes, this is three days late. These things happen.  
**

* * *

She was _tired_.

It was the third night in a row Maka was up well past midnight, and this was the last push. She had to finish grading these finals tonight and calculate grades. Winter break started after tomorrow, grades were due, she was out of _time_.

This never happened to her-never never _never_.

What was _wrong_ with her?

"Hey," his voice was deep behind her and far too close to her ear, startling her. She slammed her head into his chin, leaned far too low to read over her shoulder, and yelped in pain, his own bellow of discomfort little consolation for the new throbbing in the back of her head.

Oh, yeah, _that's_ what was wrong with her. Or rather, _he_ was what was wrong with her, his warmth and his cute dimple and his stupid snarky humor. How had he snuck up on her?

"You shouldn't creep up on people!"

"Wasn't creeping." He rubbed his chin ruefully. "What're you still doing up?"

"Grading," she snapped. "First semester grades are due in the morning. Gotta finish their finals and calculate final grades."

Maka couldn't have stifled the long sigh if she tried. What she didn't mention was that her head had been buzzing since she'd slept in his arms two months ago, and then again this month, that waking up to his warmth and his slow, steady heartbeat had been so right and frightening all at once that she didn't know what to do anymore and it had her so distracted, she couldn't focus on the grading she should have finished last week. Somewhere in that part of her brain she labeled denial, she knew she'd gone and caught a case of the feelings, but she'd be damned if she admitted as much. She'd keep shoving the thoughts aside because they were a _problem_ , a headache she didn't need.

These things never ended well. Maka Albarn didn't do relationships-she had tried and failed and vowed never again. Watching her parents crash and burn should have been warning enough, but she'd had her own fill and wanted no more part of it.

Didn't stop the stupid goosebumps from springing to life on her arm as he brushed aside her hair briefly before walking into the kitchen. She could hear a clatter of cabinets and pans but forced herself to ignore it in favor of grading her next exam.

She was so _tired_ , so damned dazed as she started reading through yet another exam, that she'd nearly forgotten he was even awake until she heard the soft padding of foot steps. Her focus on the exam, trying to read over the same paragraph for the third time in a row with glazed eyes, she felt the couch dip near her and heard the soft clink of cups being set on the coffee table. Yawning widely, hand covering her mouth, she gave up on the exam for a moment to turn her gaze his way.

"What?" she snapped. Maka didn't mean it; she was just beyond exhausted and could not muster up even a sliver of patience.

"Made you cocoa," he said in a gruff half grunt that spoke of his own fatigue.

The smell of chocolate invigorated her as she leaned forward to grasp the warm mug in her hands. Her favorite mug, with the cute kittens frolicking in flowers.

Taking a sip, as the chocolate perfection spilled onto her tongue, just warm enough not to scald, she couldn't help but let out a sound of delight that sounded nearly obscene.

"This is fantastic, how do I not know you make cocoa this good?"

His shrug was noncommittal. "You know now."

"See, this almost makes up for all the times you left your clothes on the bathroom floor this month." She took another sip, savoring the rich warmth.

"Almost?" One white eyebrow arched slightly.

"Okay, definitely. But just this once. And only because I'm in a forgiving mood."

"You're welcome." His tired grin as he reached for his own mug sent more heat through her than her third sip of cocoa ever could. "Anyway, I guess I have you to thank for it."

Turning his way, eyebrows furrowed, she blurted an inelegant, "huh?"

Maka knew she was tired, but that made zero sense. She always made cocoa in the keurig, and she knew quality homemade stuff when she tasted it.

"Remember that gig I took last Saturday in Vegas?" He was tapping a rhythm on the side of his own mug, a gift from Blake that said 'She wants the' and had a music note under the words. Even someone as musically clueless as Maka could infer the joke, and she had soundly punched her childhood friend when he gave it to her roommate for his birthday in the fall.

"Yeah. The Jazz thing. I wish I could have gone, but I had-"

"No, no, it was no big deal, don't worry." The rhythm increased as he stared into the steaming contents of his mug. "It's just, Wes is doing a concert series in Vegas right now, and I saw him."

"Oh my-" her grin was so wide it ached and he met it with one of his own "-oh my _god_ , Soul, that's great! I'm- _how was it_?"

"Good," he said, nodding slightly. " _Great_."

"I'm so glad! Though I can't believe you took almost a week to tell me!" The punch to his arm was a reflex.

" _Ouch_ -sorry!" He looked sheepish. "I didn't want to tell you until I knew how it went, and then it was so _busy_."

"Though I'm not sure what this has to do with hot cocoa."

" _Everything_." The grin, more a smirk really, was back. "'Cause we had dinner, and I stayed over at his penthouse, and there-in the kitchen-my big bro finally taught me his famous, super secret hot cocoa recipe."

She was so _proud_ of him; Soul had finally reconnected with his brother, and that it had been good for him was obvious. "Remind me to thank him."

The smirk wavered for the barest instant, but returned full force, this time with an eyebrow waggle.

"Orrrrr you could thank _me_."

The raspberry was all the answer he deserved, and for several moments, they enjoyed their cocoa in silence. Finishing her own mug, Maka sighed and sat it down on the coffee table, reclaiming her pen and stack of exams. The small throat clearing was her only warning as before she could set pen to paper, her hand was snatched up in one of his, pen clattering to the floor as she gasped her protest. He tugged it to his other hand and examined it, the dark ink stains from countless hours of grading stark against his long, pale fingers.

"Tch," he voiced his disapproval with a small noise. "You should at least clean up first, you're gonna make a mess, bookworm. Could run you a bath. You can even grade in there since your dad got you that relaxation kit that has the bathtub work tray, remember?"

Her face twisted in disgust, though she didn't wrench away her hand, enjoying probably too much his absent minded caress of her fingers. "As if I want to associate my papa with relaxation or baths," she scoffed.

"Hey, gift horses and mouths and whatever the fuck-may as well not waste it. Plus, I think one of those bath bombs was French vanilla."

Oh the boy did know how to make her weak in the knees.

"I _guess_."

"Keep grading, I'll get it ready."

He disappeared and she had to admit, the cocoa, his news, his very presence _helped_.

Ten minutes later, he sent her to a bathroom replete with a warm, vanilla scented bath, candles, and a tray set up with hot tea and cookies, along with a pen and notepad. There were fluffy towels on a stool near the tub, and a fluffy bathrobe on the toilet seat awaiting her departure.

Locking the door, she placed the exams she'd brought with her carefully on the tray, undressed, and got into the water, soaking in the warmth and scent even as the ink on her fingers bled into the water.

It was bliss. It was _home_ , and as usual, he knew just what she needed. As it had been for months, home was where he was, just on the other side of the apartment, cleaning up the cocoa mess in the kitchen.

He might grumble when it was his turn to cook tomorrow, or his turn to do the laundry this weekend, but he took care of her now without expectation or complaint.

Soul really was her best friend, and as she sank into her bath of vanilla and ink, she wondered how she had ever managed without him.


	5. Red Scarf

**A/N: This one is two days late, getting closer, right? Written for Soma Week Day 5, Red String of Destiny. Thanks again to Bend, Amanda, Lunar, and Kat.**

* * *

He ducked into her classroom just as lunch period was starting. It was largely empty, most students having vacated at the speed of teenage hunger, but Tsugumi Harudori, permanent exchange student with a thousand questions in her head at any given moment, still lingered, packing her things in that slow, methodical way that suggested she meant to ask some of them here and now.

"Hey," Soul said as he approached, his eyes moving between Maka and Tsugumi, then back. "I'm gonna run to Slice and Dice, you want something?"

Pursing her lips in thought, she nodded. Although she had packed some cheese and crackers since it was all she had time to grab when they'd been running late that morning, something from her favorite little sandwich shop sounded divine. "Yeah, Cobb salad, blue cheese dressing, hold the croutons, and an iced tea with lemon, no sugar."

"Got it." He nodded, backing towards the door.

"Soul, wait a sec!" He was in his leather riding jacket and gloves, with dark jeans and a button up underneath, but it was unusually cold, with an icy wind blowing from the mountains that had wind chill in the negatives. Ignoring the eyes of her student, Maka grabbed up the long, red scarf her good friend Tsubaki had knitted her from the back of her chair and moved over to the music teacher, who had halted mid step. She started looping the ridiculously oversized scarf around his neck to muffled mutters.

"What the hel-" his eyes flicked towards Tsugumi, who was adjusting the strap to her bag and averting her gaze "-eck, Maka?"

"It's _freezing_ outside." She planted her fists on her hips, finally done with her bundling. "I don't want you to crash because you got frostbite-my salad is at stake!"

"Yeah, yeah, later," he mumbled as he finished backing away, but he smiled and waved as he disappeared through her classroom door.

The massive intake of breath behind her was audible, followed by a loud squeal of, "oh my god, _oh my god_!"

The English teacher turned around to see her student grinning like the cat who caught the canary, eyes as wide as saucers. Exuberant couldn't begin to describe the girl's demeanor as she shrieked something in her native tongue.

Maka's Japanese must have been rustier than she'd thought, because it sounded like Tsugumi was babbling about red thread.

"I beg your pardon?" The teacher blinked at the younger girl.

"Ah-you know-I think in English you would say it's the red string of fate? Your scarf-you're tied! I _knew_ it!"

Blinking again, Maka shook her head. Red string-of fate? It vaguely rang a bell, but she couldn't quite-

"You know, like, when people are-soulmates they call it, yes? How the story goes that they are linked by the red string of fate, destined to be together for all time? You and Mr. Evans are totally soulmates!"

Her shriek could have shattered glass, and Maka might have wanted to cover her ears if she wasn't trying to will down the flaming she could feel rising in her cheeks. "No- _no_ , Soul-I mean, _Mr. Evans_ and I are just colleagues and friends, we're not-"

"The red string doesn't lie, Miss Albarn. You shared the red scarf. It's _fate_. I just knew it, too! Anya said _no way,_ but I knew it last year! You guys are perfect together!" the girl gushed.

Maka shook her head in response because she had no idea what to say. "I-did you have a question?"

"Um." The girl fidgeted then nodded.

It turned out 'a question' was actually more like a dozen, all about _Pride and Prejudice_ , their assigned novel for the week. Tsugumi's knowledge of the cultural context wasn't really worse than most, she was just more conscientious about her lack of context given that she wasn't a native speaker. A good twenty minutes after, they finally cleared up her confusion over social propriety (the lax social rules in the states had always been strange to her, but the idea that there used to be strict rules in the English speaking world that people no longer adhered to surprised her), and she was packing up the new notes she'd taken as she looked again towards Maka, head tilted in thought.

"You two are a little like this, right? You and Mr. Evans? You can't see your string because you ignore your feelings."

Maka stared, blinking, face hot again, about to make a firm denial when her student shouldered her bag and made her way towards the door just as Soul drifted back in, red scarf still wrapped snugly around his neck. The girl giggled as he passed, then winked in the most obvious, exaggerated way towards Maka before heading out the door.

"What's with her?" Soul stared after the student for a moment, shaking the bag of food in his hand back towards the door and frowning.

"She had questions about the reading-are we going to eat or would you rather talk lit?"

"Point taken." He discarded his jacket and scarf on an empty table and plopped himself on an extra chair near her desk, pulling it up before rifling through the contents of his recent purchase.

"They were out of blue cheese, so I hope ranch is okay."

"Yeah, it's fine," she said as she moved to sit in her desk chair across from him. He pushed the food across to rest in front of her, along with a large drink, and she began working to mix her salad, focusing anywhere but on him.

Her head was still far too full of her student's words.

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about Soul in that way before, because she definitely had, had been haunted by such thoughts recently, but she always cut those inclinations short because she damn well knew she shouldn't go there. Maka was pretty sure relationships were beyond her, at least of the romantic variety; the one time she'd tried had been an unmitigated disaster. Hiro had seemed so _nice_ , and even though she hadn't exactly seen him _that way_ , had never really seen anyone that way, when he asked her out their junior year of high school, she'd said yes.

Biggest mistake of her life, that.

They dated for months and she let him kiss her and touch her even though she hated it because that was what you were supposed to do. Her mama and papa may have failed at romance, but she would do better. Sure, she didn't have strong feelings for Hiro, but he was charming and handsome and nice and that was enough, right? All her friends were dating and Maka was already the bookworm, the girl with the manwhore dad and absentee mom. In this, she refused to be the strange one.

Then prom came around. Hiro got a room, so many people were getting rooms, and she'd have to get it over with eventually, right? He was nice, he'd been patient, they'd been dating for nine months. She figured it was time, so they did it, and it was painful and messy and gross, worse than kissing him or being groped by him, and she didn't get why anyone thought _that_ would be good because it just _wasn't_.

Hiro broke up with her a few weeks later when she wouldn't have sex again, calling her a cold fish and wondering aloud how she could be Spirit Albarn's daughter. Maka clocked him out cold for the second comment, earning her suspension, but the rest wasn't upsetting. All she really felt was _relief_. She should have learned from her parents failures. Relationships never lasted, sex was messy and gross, why bother?

For years, she hadn't cared to bother-been there done that-and then came Soul. Her best friend of over a year, the one person she had ever trusted wholly, somehow worming his way past her defenses with his intelligence and loyalty and snark. Mostly, she was content to be his friend-but recently, the way he made her heart race with a look, a touch, the way his rare smiles could make her feel like melting, she found herself thinking that maybe relationships weren't so bad, maybe sex could be good, maybe. Others certainly seemed to like it. She'd never felt drawn to anyone the way she felt drawn to him, and it scared her and thrilled her in equal measure, but in the end, she decided she would rather not risk the solid friendship they had for some impossible promise of future happiness that would likely never come.

Aside from which, she really wasn't his _type_. She'd overheard him talking to Blake when they were all new hires at orientation, and he'd confirmed his preference for well endowed women, something Maka certainly wasn't. Not that she'd ever seen him show much interest of that sort in _anyone_ , but if he were going to, she clearly wouldn't meet his physical criteria.

No, a relationship was impossible between them, whatever Tsugumi had said about the damn scarf and the silly red string, whatever her heart whispered and her body ached for, it could not be.

They were friends, best friends, and that was all she-

"Earth to Maka, you okay?" His voice brought her back, but she still couldn't meet his eyes, her gaze resting back on her own largely untouched salad. She had pushed these thoughts away for months, never letting herself think about where her feelings were leading her-the random observations of one silly high school girl shouldn't change that.

"I'm sorry, just thinking about the lesson I'm teaching this afternoon."

"Nerd," he said with a small chuckle as she pointedly forked her salad.

"Better a nerd than an ass," she grumbled, though she didn't mean it, not just then. Her eyes flicked up long enough to catch his grin.

"You wound me, Albarn. After I bought your salad and returned that red monstrosity intact."

"You should keep it," she blurted suddenly.

"Wh-"

Feeling the need to defend the sudden impulse, she met his eyes and mentally cursed the heat rising to her cheeks. "The scarf. You should keep it. It's really too big for me, and Tsubaki would be thrilled to see you wearing it. Plus, she's been wanting to make me a new one, and honestly, Tsu lives to do nice things for people, so I try to give her the opportunity." She was stammering a little and it made her feel like an idiot. He should probably laugh at her and call her a nerd again, but somehow, he didn't.

"Uh, sure," he said instead, scratching the back of his neck briefly, and they both proceeded to finish their lunches.

What Maka didn't mention was that the idea of him in her scarf made her feel _warm_. Maybe she didn't believe in fate or destiny or soulmates, but her heart believed in _him_ , and she craved connection, even if it could only be in the form of friendship and a scarf.


	6. Fight Song

**A/N: This was written for SoMa week 2016 day 6, feisty. Yes, it's very late. Thank you Kat for the eyes.**

* * *

Jolted awake by the sharp rap on his door, he glanced at the glaring green numbers flashing 5:30 on his alarm and groaned, burying his head under his pillows.

"Soul!" her voice called from the other side of the door, followed by another sharp knock. "Time to get up-we're meeting Blake in half an hour."

"Screw Blake," he muttered.

He heard the door open and shut and suddenly he was _cold_ as the covers were yanked away.

"Not my type." Maka pulled the pillow from his head. "Now get _up_. Those legs aren't going to tone themselves!" She poked his soft inner thigh for emphasis.

"'M I your type?" He grinned sharply at her. "There're other ways to tone my legs."

"Don't be gross." She slammed his pillow back into his middle hard enough to leave him winded, then shook her head. "You have ten minutes. I'll have eggs ready."

She was gone a moment later, the memory her retreating backside serving as a blazing advertisement of just how toned it was possible to get. With a sigh, Soul rolled out of bed to shuck on some sweat pants and a ratty band tee, then shoved some work clothes in a bag and exited his bedroom to join his roommate for breakfast.

Some scrambled eggs, toast, a glass of orange juice, and a short motorcycle ride later, and they were in the school gym, doing squat lifts with Blake. Maka always did emphasize the importance of leg strength. Ignoring the snickers of the nearby wrestling team who were engaged in morning practice, their amusement over the fact that the lithe girl next to him was squatting a lot more weight than he was really not worth a second glance, Soul focused the really bad pop playing from the boom box in the corner and remembered that this would be over soon enough. But man oh man did he hate leg day; his thighs would _burn_ later.

At least he had the sparring portion to look forward to. Because he lived for the sparring portion.

Done with squats, they moved on to lunges, and Soul tried to focus on his own movements while unable to keep his eyes off his gym partner. Her toned abs glistened beneath the fabric of her workout crop top, and he would not admit the urge to lick them, no no no no no.

Grunting as his grip slipped on his hand weight, he nearly dropped it.

"You'd do better to focus on your own form and stop trying to copy mine," Maka chided, and he didn't correct her mistaken assumption, but he did tear his eyes away to shift them to Blake. The freak of nature, his hair dyed a garish blue, was also glistening, shirtless abs prominent. He winked at Soul who nearly gagged.

"I know I'm hot and all with my godly physique, but Maks is right, you need to focus, peasant."

With a scowl, Soul moved his eyes to his own form in the mirror. He really did know what he was doing now, even if it had taken _months_.

At first, he had been pretty clueless. Phys Ed was never his strong suit, and at the uptight private high school he'd attended, orchestra had actually counted for his PE credits. Exercise was not something Soul had ever aspired to for the sake of it, and his undergraduate experience at Julliard had done exactly zero to alter that reality. Even once he graduated and gave his family the proverbial finger by taking out loans to pursue his masters in education three thousand miles away at, perish the thought, a _public school_ , physical fitness had been far off his personal radar.

It wasn't until he'd become friends with Maka that she had occasionally started to push him into exercising, and once they became roommates, that ramped up to him becoming her personal gym buddy and being dragged to the school weight room 3 mornings a week. Three brutally ass early mornings.

 _You lack muscle tone,_ she'd said, _no wonder you get winded so easily._

 _It's good for mood,_ she'd insisted.

 _Better me than Blake, he might actually kill you if he catches you first,_ she'd pleaded.

The third was probably the nail in the coffin for his underwhelming physique. Not that he was afraid of Blake "call me Black Star" Barret-more like he was a sucker for Maka's sad kitten eyes.

So here he was, in the school weight room at an ungodly hour doing leg work, as they had every week for months. Even someone with questionable physical skills such as himself could pick up the basics given that much time. Of course, that wasn't to say he didn't sometimes fuck up his form on purpose-Maka sliding her hands over various parts of his body to correct his posture or limb placement was a special kind of torture, and he looked forward to it immensely.

It also didn't mean he wouldn't bitch and whine and moan and complain, because he did all that in spades. Even still, he quietly loved it if only because he got to watch her in her element. Soul might not be the powerhouse she was, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate her in her glory. He suspected it might be a little how she felt when he played piano in that way.

Thirty minutes of leg work later and, as usual, Soul was pretty much ready to die. But he couldn't die just yet, no, because it was sparring time. Getting a little giddy at the prospect, he followed his already glistening roommate to the mat in the corner, trailed by the blue haired PE teacher/wrestling coach. There were a few snickers from the still working out wrestling team, but nothing more since Maka and Soul were always the opening match. At first, the team had gathered to watch the sparring matches between the tiny English teacher and towering music teacher, but once they figured out that the three time black belt and MMA champion of the state in her weight class in college would just hand him his ass every damn time, they'd quickly lost interest.

Soul would have loved to believe this morning would be different, that for once he might hold his own, but it wouldn't. He was oddly fine with that. He would never admit it to anyone, would sooner die than admit it, but he sort of _liked_ getting his ass kicked by his roommate. She was just so _fierce_ -the fire in her eyes, the quick precision of her movements, her long, long legs kicking him into next Tuesday-sparring was definitely his favorite part.

Facing her on the mat, he grinned widely. He did have a new strategy to try, anyway. Who knew? Maybe it would even work.

"Well aren't we feisty this morning." She grinned back. "That eager to get your ass kicked?"

He shrugged, but the shit eating grin remained.

Blake signaled to start, and Soul stayed back. He needed her to come to him, to get in close for this to work. A few avoided kicks later, and she came in for a close jab. As he took the hit, his grin widened, and he reached out to her sides, wiggling his fingers mercilessly.

Suddenly, she was _wheezing_.

"Soul!" she shrieked with a gasp between giggles as she crumpled to the floor. "This-is-cheating!"

"Nuh uh," he insisted, fingers still working her sides as she rolled around on the floor. "All's fair in love and sparring." In this case, for him at least, both were true, and he was enjoying her breathless giggles probably a little too much.

"You-asked for it-!" she managed to wheeze out, and then he was seeing stars as her foot impacted his gut, knocking him flat on his ass. It was his turn to wheeze as he lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, just trying to breathe.

"Aw, bro." A blue head came into view, standing over him with his own shit eating grin. "Looks like pigtails handed you your ass _again_. Guess I'll have to show you how it's done."

Blake held out a hand for him to take and deposited him on the edge of the mat, still wheezing, before walking towards the center. Maka grinned Soul's way briefly, smug in her triumph, before facing her new opponent.

And the wrestling team gathered. Because while they might have long since grown bored with watching Soul get his ass handed to him three times weekly, they never seemed to tire of the dizzying matches between the English teacher and their coach.

"Ready to eat the mat?" Maka asked with a slight tilt to her head, one sweat damp pigtail brushing her collarbone in the most distracting way.

"Funny." Blake cracked his own neck, grin feral. "Was about to ask you the same question. On three?"

"On three."

They counted. They went. Soul's head was spinning with the speed of their movements as they circled and jabbed and kicked. Blake was power and speed, lethal, but Maka was all that and _grace_. She was a goddess of war, glistening and deadly, and Soul could have watched her all day every day.

The whoops of the wrestling team all around them was white noise, hazy. There was only her and her focus and her grin when she landed a hit and the fire in her eyes. Maka had this. Blake beat her as often as he lost, but not today. Today, Maka was on fire, wrath incarnate, and when Blake's ass finally hit the floor, woozy with a blow to the head, Soul's heart skipped when she grinned his way in triumph, like her victory was his, too.

The wrestling team chanted the school fight song as Maka took a victory lap around the map to thunderous applause.

His own head long since clear, Soul got up and sauntered over to Blake, leaning down with a smirk.

"Awwww, bro. Looks like pigtails handed _you_ your ass, too."

"Yeah, yeah," he griped as Soul held out a hand to help the wrestling coach to his feet. "Gotta let my minions have the spotlight some of the time."

"Sure, dude." Soul rolled his eyes, then turned around to high five his roommate. "Guess I'm not the feisty one today," he told her with a smile.

"Guess not." She smiled back. "Now hit the showers, you both _reek_."

"Yeah, like you don't." Blake snickered.

Maka shrugged, her attention still on Soul. "Lunch in my room? I packed you sushi." She made a face, but her smile returned full force shortly after.

"Perfect." His own smile widened so much it hurt and Soul tried to quash down the gross wave of affection. She really was the best.

"Alright, alright, enough with the kissy kissy flirty flirty," Blake said as he clapped Soul on the back. "Hit the showers!" he called to the room and the entire wrestling team began to file out towards the locker room, Soul and Blake in tow.

A hot shower later, mercifully in one of the few actual stalls that were in the locker room, and Soul was in a t-shirt and his shorts, towel drying his hair before getting dressed. This corner of the locker room was unoccupied, the wrestling lockers far over on the other side.

He wasn't surprised when blue hair appeared next to him, though the slight frown was puzzling. In the two years he'd known him, Soul could count the number of times the man had looked thoughtful on one hand, including here and now.

"You know," he said slowly. "You could just ask her out."

"Ask who what?"

Soul probably deserved the eye roll.

"Look, bro, broski, brohemian, I know you wanna tap dat. _Everyone_ knows you wanna tap dat, so just-"

"Tap dat?" Soul made a face as he finished drying his hair and reached for his pants, trying to ignore the fact that Blake was stark ass nude next to him. "What are you,14? And anyway, haven't you known her since you were like 2? Aside from which, she'd totally ground your face into the pavement if she heard-"

"Okay-1," the PE teacher held up a finger to tick off, "tap dat is a totally legit phrase for what you wanna do, because seriously dude, you look at her like you're dying of thirst and she's the only water around," he ticked off another finger, "B, yeah Maka is my oldest minion, but she's also totally into you and you guys are practically married without the fringe benefits anyway, _and_ if you fucked up I wouldn't even have to kick your ass 'cause she'd totally do it first, plus there's only so much pining pathetic eye fucking I can take, and," another finger came out, "3, Maka ain't here, so seriously, STFU you whinyassed peasant."

"Wait." Soul frowned, buttoning the shirt he'd reached for during that little speech, head spinning. "You think Maka is into me?"

"Did I slur or something? Duh."

His head shake had begun before he even willed it. Tucking his shirt, he turned to face Blake then wished he hadn't since the other man had made no move to get dressed.

"Look." Another eyeroll from the blue haired, green eyed menace. "I know you're all broody and whatever the fuck, so maybe you missed the memo, but for whatever reason, because seriously, we're bros and all but I don't see it, pigtails thinks you're like-fuck-like better than her favorite book, in Maka speak. I've never seen her into anyone, not even that loser ass boyfriend in high school, but Maks is _into you_. So dude, make a move."

Another head shake as Soul put on his shoes. Why were they even talking about this? This was-none of anyone's fucking business. "Not gonna fuck things up. Maka-"

"Thinks her dad is gross, and hates guys who are just trying to score, yadda yadda, I know-but that doesn't apply to you. Trust me."

"Whatever," Soul said as he stuffed his workout clothes in his bag and slung it over his shoulder. "I gotta teach in five minutes, so later dude."

"Just think about it!" Blake called after him as he walked away. "No one can keep their head up their ass forever."

 _Was_ his head up his ass? Flashing green eyes haunted him as Soul walked to the performing arts building. No, it wasn't possible. But then, soft smiles, fleeting touches, couch cuddles, things Maka would never do with anyone else drifted through his mind and he thought maybe, just maybe, it was.


End file.
